The Girl in the Video
by katydidit
Summary: When a body is found in a lake, the team must solve her murder. But will her appearance open old wounds for a member of the Squint Squad? Rather Hodgela, with some adult content. Chapter 4 up 2-13!
1. Chapter 1

The Girl on the Videotape

AN/Disclaimer: Obviously none of these characters are mine at all. Also, this is my first Bones fic, and only my second crime fic ever. (I tried to write one for Monk, but it was really predictable. I hope that this manages to hold your attention. I have several chapters written, but I would still love your suggestions and reviews. Indeed, it is the reviews that often keep me inspired: I really appreciate them. So, I hope you enjoy this story, and that my characters aren't too OOC for you! Let me know: I love constructive criticism and all that jazz.

Also, a superhuge thank you goes out to Angel-of-the-silence, my idea-bouncer. Without you, writing this story would be so much harder than it already is!

Doctor Temperance Brennan was wide awake before she even really knew what had woken her up. Heart racing, she sat up in one smooth motion, and reached for the baseball bat she kept near her bed. It had worked on the last strange man who had tried to break in, so she kept it close every night now, just in case. Granted, the last strange man who had tried to break in had merely been Pete, but, frankly, that was irrelevant. Her fingertips just barely brushed the handle of the bat, and it clattered to the ground with a heart-stoppingly loud crash. Great. If someone was in the house, they definitely heard that. She rolled her eyes and grabbed it, before stepping out into the hallway. She hadn't remembered to grab a shirt to cover herself with—she had come in exceedingly late last night and had barely managed to pull her shirt off and step out of her shoes before falling into bed, let alone change into pajamas—but that didn't really matter. If someone was in this house, she fully intended to knock them out before they could get a good look.

She approached the living room warily, peeking around the corner. It didn't look like anyone was in here—so what had she heard? Just as she was relaxing, allowing the bat to drop slightly, she heard the doorknob click and saw the door crack open. She pulled herself back around the corner, hiding as her heart leapt into her throat. Just because she was able to defend herself in situations like these didn't mean that she enjoyed them. The footsteps came closer, approaching her hiding spot, and, without thinking, she swung the bat. It connected with the intruder's abdomen with a rather satisfying thud, and a loud grunt escaped his—yes, his—mouth.

"God dammit, Bones, this is why you can't have a gun!" The voice was familiar. Brennan let the bat fall to the ground as she stooped to examine the so-called intruder. It was her partner, Seeley Booth, and he was doubled over and obviously having trouble breathing.

"Well, why were you breaking into my house?" she demanded, pressing her fingers deftly into his ribcage. No, no broken ribs—she probably just knocked the air out of him. Was that the phrase?

"I wasn't breaking in," he said slowly, defensively. "I've been out there knocking. When you didn't answer, I thought something...might have....happened to...." He trailed off distractedly, which was somewhat alarming. She hadn't hit him in the head, so it couldn't be a concussion, and, although she was by no means a weak woman, it would have been extremely hard for her to collapse his lung with just one hit. "Bones, you wanna...um...put something....on?"

Brennan froze, momentarily panicked. She had left her room topless, save for a laundry-day bra. It was an absolutely ridiculous contraption, skimpy and lacy. Honestly, it was something more suited to Angela than herself, and had been a so-called gift from Pete from long ago. Her washing machine wasn't working, so she had to wait either for a repairman or some time to get to a laundromat. Now she could feel herself blushing—deeply—and crossed her arms in front of herself. She cleared her throat and backed away slowly, trying to regain any shred of dignity that she could. "Yeah...one second." Mortified, she retreated into her bedroom and slammed the door with an audible groan. Once it was locked, she ripped the stupid bra off, resigning herself to wearing one that she had already worn. At this point she really had no choice: she never wanted to see that other...thing again.

She imagined she was being fairly silly about this all. She was female, so of course she had breasts and other typically-female parts. Surely Booth, of all people, had seen plenty of typically-female parts before, but...it was Booth. This was her partner: a man she had to see every day, and she was wearing the most impractical piece of clothing that she had ever owned. She pulled a work shirt on and buttoned it up as high as she possibly could, and checked herself very thoroughly in the mirror before daring to crack open the door once again.

Booth still had his eyes fixed on the floor, but at least he wasn't bent over in pain. She smiled faintly, not that he caught it, and pulled her bedroom door shut softly behind her. The noise caught his attention, and he raised his gaze to her once again, though he couldn't quite look her in the eyes. "Some swimmers found a body in a lake: most of the...well, most if it is gone, so, um...you're needed. They're waiting for us on the scene: we gotta go."

Brennan nodded, noting with displeasure the strangely stilted manner in which he was speaking to her. That, paired with the strange way he was walking and the fact that he made it a point to walk several paces in front of her, all the way out to the car, certainly bothered her. The car ride was largely silent, until Brennan finally spoke up.

"Look, I'm sorry if I hurt you with that bat—you were just...breaking into my house. Is it getting easier to breathe? Because if it isn't, then that could mean a number of things, not the least of which could be a smaller pneumothorax or internal bleeding—both are extremely dangerous, and you should get help right away..." She looked over, and Booth treated her to a fixed, cool stare.

"I'm fine, Bones, you just knocked the wind out of me. No bleeding or...or that other thing." He returned his eyes to the road for several minutes. "Do you always sleep in...that...or did I interrupt something?"

Brennan felt blood rush to her face again, and slouched back in her seat. Maybe she shouldn't have spoke up, she decided. "No...to both questions. I got in late last night and just...went right to bed."

Booth snorted—it was great that he was returning to normal, but did it have to be at her expense? "So you were wearing....*that* all day yesterday?" Now she returned his level stare, but it accomplished nothing. His eyes roved her face, then lower, and he laughed again before returning his attention to the road. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Just forget it, Booth," Brennan muttered, looking out the window. So much for knocking the intruder out before he got a good look. Maybe she should have gone for the head.

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen," Booth muttered right back, as he pulled up alongside several other squad cars. He was the first one out of the car, wielding his badge in front of him in order to gain access to the site. Brennan followed, and crouched next to the remains. It appeared as though they had been in the water for several months—three at the absolute most, she estimated. She pulled on a pair of gloves and began to examine the body.

"This is a female," she announced thoughtfully, more for Booth's benefit than her own. "She looks young—possibly somewhere between thirteen and sixteen. She is of average height—around 5'2", and definitely caucasian." She spent a few more minutes prodding at the remains, looking for anything else she could glean in the field, and then stood up. "I need water and soil samples from the lake, and I'll need all of this sent to the Jeffersonian. Carefully, if you would. I don't want any evidence to be compromised." And with that, she brushed past Booth on the way back up to the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Again, great amounts of thank-you's are due to the lovely Angel-of-the-silence, my idea-bouncer. You keep me so motivated in writing this: and that's a very important thing in writing a story like this.

Angela Montenegro stretched luxuriously, loving the feel of the sun on her closed eyelids and exposed skin. She was not usually a morning person, but today...today felt like it was going to be a good day. The only thing that could have made it better, she mused as she slipped from between the covers to hurry into the shower, would have been waking up next to Hodgins. A strange thought, especially for the Wild Child herself, but she let it pass—she just...really liked Jack. Really liked him. She smiled faintly all through that morning, despite the gridlock on her way to work and the fact that it was so damn early. On her way to the office, she passed a body bag in a stretcher heading straight for the platform. Even that wasn't going to get her down. It was an awesome day. She dropped her purse onto her desk and pulled the labcoat on. Even though she wasn't really a scientist, didn't really fit in most of the time around the lab, the lab coat always made her feel just a little bit smarter.

Someone knocked on her door, and she spun around. It was Hodgins. "Hey, Ange," he said, and the smile on his face was probably identical to hers. "Missed you last night." He grinned a little wider and came closer, to rest his hands on her hips. "When are you finally going to give in and spend more than one night in a row? This is cruel torture." Angela had to laugh.

"Cruel torture would be me inflicting my entire shoe collection on you," she corrected, and caught his lips. "I promise, I'm doing this for you."

"Please, don't you two ever stop?" Cam's voice came, exasperated as always, from the doorway. "Hodgins, Dr. Brennan needs you. A body came in, and she wants you to try to get particulates, do your slime-and-bug thing, whatever."

Hodgins gave a long-suffering sigh and seemed about to launch into some sort of lecture about what, exactly, his job entailed. Instead, Angela gave him a quick kiss, hoping to silence his indignance. It seemed to work: he turned around and all but sauntered through the door. Angela and Cam exchanged a look of amusement before following him out.

"This is definitely a young female, around fourteen, judging from the pubis bones. Estimated date of death several months ago—four, at the most, though the water probably accelerated decomposition so it's probably closer to three. Zack, what can you tell me so far about the cause of death?" Brennan looked up from the remains on the table, over at her lab assistant.

"Not much, at the moment. Due to the accelerated decomposition, it's not easy to determine which of these wounds are from fish or insects, and which are from the actual attack. It should be easier to see once the flesh is removed from the bones." He glanced at Brennan, almost as though expecting her to scold him or something, but she merely nodded.

"Before you guys do...that, I'd appreciate it if I could do an autopsy," Cam murmured, ducking closer to the body. She prodded gently at the body, manipulating limbs and examining the surface of the skin. "I see some ligature marks around the neck and some traces of bruising here at the wrists, and more at the legs."

Booth, who was standing next to a somewhat lightheaded Angela, shifted his weight from foot to foot. Even without looking, Angela could sense the sheer power emanating from him. Sometimes he was like some sort of large cat: even when he was perfectly still, the power in his coiled muscles was obvious. Also obvious was the tension between her best friend and her partner—obvious, that is, to everyone except the aforementioned pair. "So, what, she was raped? Fourteen years old and she was raped?"

Angela's knees buckled slightly, but luckily she caught herself before she ended up face-first on the floor. "She was only fourteen years old? Consider my day officially ruined." She murmured, and wished her voice sounded stronger. As she approached the remains on that slab, she heard Brennan's voice—probably explaining, in very scientific terms, how there wasn't any precise way to tell exactly how old the girl was with the current knowledge—but she didn't really pay attention. Without tissue markers, it was hard to place a real, human face on this...well, on the body, but Angela couldn't keep herself from trying. She didn't realize how tightly she was gripping the cold steel until she felt a gentle touch at the small of her back, and heard Hodgin's voice.

"Ange, are you okay?" He kept his voice low—maybe no one else had noticed her reaction. The spell was broken. Angela took one step back and nodded slightly. "Bren, I'll be in my office waiting for...her skull, okay?" She wanted to be anywhere but here. Brennan just nodded again, enthralled once more with the small body on the table.

Jack followed her back to her office, as though he were afraid she'd pass out on the way. The idea was oddly funny to her: maybe Zack would trip over her body and Cam would immediately begin an autopsy or something. "Look, do you need some fresh air or something? What's wrong?" Angela sank into her desk chair and turned on the monitors. Might as well get everything booted up and ready, for when she finished the sketch. Hodgins sat in the chair next to her: like always. The familiarity was comforting, but she knew it meant he expected an answer.

"She was just so young, Jack, that's all," Angela mumbled, somewhat unconvincingly. "And then for her to be raped and dumped into some lake somewhere...what kind of a person does that?" She shuddered quietly.

"Angela, we've gotten kids in here before, and you've been fine. I mean, I thought you were gonna pass out for a minute there. Did you skip breakfast or something?" Angela knew that his intentions were good. She knew that, and yet, she found herself growing irritated with him. Drawing in a deep breath to try to keep herself under control, she turned to him.

"Like I said, Hodgins, I'm fine now. She looked really little on the table, so it...threw me for a minute. You can go: I want to start searching the missing person reports, to maybe get a head start." She turned towards the computer screens once more, sending a pretty clear message: get out. Hodgins didn't miss it, though he did hesitate a moment. When he left, he left without a word, and still all Angela could feel was relief. Well, that and a faint queasiness.


	3. Chapter 3

So much credit is due to Angel-of-the-silence! Without her, I probably would have given up on this story already—not because it's tough, but because I'm lazy and also unsure of myself.

Please, if you read, take a moment to review. Tell me what you liked the most about this chapter, and what you liked the least. The more I improve, the better chapters you get!

* * *

"She looks scared, Angela." Brennan was holding the Angela's finished sketch. It had been an incredibly tough task, but she'd thought she'd done an adequate job. Angela took the paper back, biting back what would most likely have been an overly-sensitive remark. "I thought you were supposed to draw a neutral expression to maximize the possible hits from the database. In most photographs, people are smiling...why did you draw her like this?"

Angela's hackles rose, and she straightened her back, squared her shoulders. "Sweetie, she's a little girl who was raped and murdered. I'm sorry if I couldn't stop myself from making her look a little scared." She turned to her computer screens and pulled up the real reason she'd called everyone to her office. "Anyway, it obviously didn't matter whether she looked scared or not, because I got a hit. Olivia Briggs, age thirteen, went missing last June. Dental records would probably confirm this, in case you think my drawing somehow skewed the results."

Brennan gave her a strange look, but Angela ignored her, and after several moments, the woman left—probably to go check the dental records and compare them with the girl's. Behind her, she could feel Cam hesitating, most likely sharing a Look with Hodgins. Finally, though, she left—Angela assumed it was to review her findings in the autopsy, maybe just to get away from Angela. Either reason would be fantastic. Hodgins followed her wordlessly, leaving Angela alone, once again, with a photograph of a fierce-looking (not scared) little thirteen-year-old.

***

"Are you sure it's our Olivia?" Mrs. Briggs, instead of looking saddened or frightened, looked somewhat shocked. "Can we see her?"

Booth heard Bones draw in a breath and realized that, whatever she was about to say, it wasn't going to be the best thing at the moment. He spoke quickly, hoping to soften the blow that needed to be dealt to these parents. "We have confirmed your daughter's identity using dental records...there's really no question. It's probably best that you don't see her." He grimaced apologetically at them, then studied the floor for a moment. "We do have a few questions for you, though. We have reason to suspect foul play, so we need to know if your daughter had any enemies: anyone who might have posed a threat to her just before her disappearance."

Briggs snorted—a strangely un-fatherly sound from someone whose daughter has just turned up dead. Brennan shot Booth a Look. She didn't always know exactly how to interact with people, but she was pretty sure that wasn't exactly the normal response. "Is something funny, Mr. Briggs?" She asked, studying him carefully. Mrs. Briggs spoke up, patting her husband's knee gently.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, glancing at the man next to her. "It's just...none of Livvy's friends were any good. She was such a good girl before she went to that school—middle school. I know all teenagers have their rebellious stages, but this was different, somehow." She sniffled, as finally the news appeared to hit her. "She was my sweet little girl until last year. Then she started making friends with these...horrible children, and she was gone."

Booth nodded, taking in this new information, but then looked at Brennan uncomfortably. They had to bring up the bruises, and Cam's hypothesis. With a man like Briggs, this was obviously not going to be an easy conversation. He cleared his throat, and moved forward a bit in his seat. "The coroner found suspicious bruising on your daughter...it leads us to believe she may have been assaulted before she died."

Briggs reacted immediately, as expected. He stood up as though the chair had suddenly caught fire. "What are you suggesting, boy? Do you think I've been touching my daughter? Are you saying you think I killed her?"

Booth and Brennan stood up as well, and Booth instinctively stepped out in front of his partner, just in case. "We're not suggesting that at all, Mr. Briggs," Brennan piped in, stretching to be make eye contact with the man over Booth's shoulder. "It's just that, in cases like these, the assault often comes from a relative or close family friend. A parent, a sibling, an uncle, maybe?"

Briggs took a step forward, almost menacingly, but Brennan held her ground. Mrs. Briggs slipped her hand through her husband's arm. "What about Daniel?" she asked, her voice almost fearful. The man spun to glare at her.

"Daniel didn't touch his sister, Maggie. These detectives are putting these crazy ideas in your head, woman. Pull yourself together." He turned to look at Booth. "Daniel is a good older brother. He protected his little sister, the way you're supposed to. He didn't go around sneaking into her room at night."

"Interesting leap, Mr. Briggs," Brennan spoke up again. "We never suggested that this would have happened at night."

Briggs' face turned an even brighter shade of red. "You're done here," he informed the two of them in a cool, even voice. "If you have anything else to say to me or my family, you can go through my lawyer. Get out." He pointed a gnarled finger at the door, and Booth and Brennan really had no choice but to leave.

"Great job, Bones," Booth muttered, once they were locked safely in the car. "You couldn't just leave that to me?"

"What?" She was honestly bewildered. Genius though she may have been, sometimes it was impossible for her to understand this man. "Booth, it had to be asked, right? Aren't they our best suspects?"

Booth couldn't argue with that—Brennan could tell by the way he pushed a little harder on the accelerator. Sometimes she worried that he was going to get them killed, but knew better than to bring that up right now. Instead, she sank back into the seat and gripped the handle on the door. She just hoped they would make it back to the Jeffersonian before the car burst into flames.

***

As per Cam's request, the so-called Squint Squad had gathered once more around the metal slab. Angela crossed her arms in front of herself, wishing to be pretty much anywhere but here. When he wasn't giving her strange looks, Hodgins was avoiding her gaze altogether—not a great feeling. By now, the girl's bones had been stripped clean—either by boiling or those flesh-eating beetles of Zack's, but frankly, the thought of asking him which one gave her the chills. Booth was near the back of the room, pacing impatiently, while his partner bent over the remains on the table looking intrigued.

"Looking at the remains earlier, I realized that something was strange—you know, off. During the autopsy, it was confirmed." Cam looked triumphant, and, usually, that fact made Angela happy, or at least relieved. It meant that there was a new development in the case: something that would help the team catch a murderer. This case was different. "During the examination, I discovered that the ligature mark around the neck was from something made of a wide but flat, braided or woven nylon. I found a few threads of black nylon in the wound."

"So she was strangled, right?" Booth all but leapt to attention at the sound of words he could understand. Cam glanced at him for a moment, then shook her head. Brennan arched an eyebrow.

"Why are you shaking your head? I can see right here that the hyoid was cracked—if she wasn't strangled, then what was the cause of death?" She crossed her arms and looked up at the boss, eyebrows arched. A challenge. Cam rose to it.

"It appears that massive blood loss was the cause of death, Dr. Brennan," Cam answered, taking entirely too much joy from answering. Were they always like this? Angela had never noticed. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, growing impatient and uncomfortable. "Obviously I can't show you now, as Mr. Addy appears to have jumped the gun, but there was a strange wound among the expected lacerations from bumping around, hitting rocks and such in the lake." She pointed to the screen, where a photograph of the aforementioned wound was displayed. "Think you can identify the weapon, Zack?" Zack crept closer to the screen, studying the image. His only response was a nod—hardly confidence-inspiring, but good enough.

"Okay, so wait. The girl was raped, then bashed with some sort of object until she bled out, and then dumped into the lake? Who would do that?" Booth looked confused—and if there was one thing that man disliked, it was not having all the facts.

"That's another thing." Cam moved to the other side of the table, to pick up one of the girl's wrists. "I found absolutely no defensive wounds."

Angela's stomach churned, as Hodgins spoke up. "So, what? Someone knocked her out, and then raped her?"

Cam looked frustrated. "No. The wound was about halfway down her back: it wouldn't have resulted in loss of consciousness at all. What's more, the bruising and ligature markings would have been several days old by the time she was killed. I found some evidence of sexual activity: namely mild bruises on the vaginal walls, but I did a tox screen and I found nothing in her system to suggest that she had been drugged—no traces of rohypnol, benzodiazepines, GHB, or chloral hydrate. There was some alcohol and THC in her system, but nowhere near enough to alter her consciousness enough to keep her from fighting a rapist."

There were several moments of confused silence, which Zack broke—less than gracefully, with his eyes still fixed on the photograph. "So she was enjoying it?"

"Nice, Zack." Angela couldn't believe that he, of all people in this room, would say something like that. "She wasn't drugged and didn't fight hard enough for anything to show up, so she wanted to be raped?" Zack turned around, looking absolutely bewildered, but she just didn't feel like talking to him—or anyone else, for that matter—right now. Instead, she hurried down off of the platform, in hopes of seeking refuge in her office before anyone saw the tears that threatened to spill.


	4. Chapter 4

Luckily for Angela, no one came around for the rest of the day. She couldn't decide if it was more likely that they were consciously giving her space, or that no one wanted to be around her at the moment, but couldn't bring herself to care. She would be the first to admit (though never out loud) that she was being a little touchy lately—ever since Olivia Briggs had been brought into the lab, almost—but the rest of them didn't know about...well, they just didn't know. When she had gotten back to her office, the tears had disappeared—a fortunate thing, if only because tears would have blurred her vision. Angela had work to do, and she needed her vision to be as clear as it could be. She loaded the photo of the wound into her computer and set out on the daunting task of trying to turn it into an image of the weapon. Sure, Zack was down the hall doing the exact same thing, but if Angela didn't do something, she was going to go crazy.

Sure enough, she managed to find work for herself for most of the day—and well into the night. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't even realize how long she'd been working until she heard a light tapping on her door. Hodgins stepped through warily, and Angela twirled in her chair to face him. "Hey," he said, raising his hand in an endearingly-awkward wave. Angela lowered her eyes for a moment, sheepishly.

"Hey yourself," she replied. "You can...come in. I promise not to bite your head off or anything."

He just smiled gently and approached her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Angela could tell that he wanted to ask her something—probably about her little blowup—but she shut off her computer and rose to her feet before he could say anything. "Look, I'm just about done here, and...I'm getting nowhere. I might have better luck in the morning. Can I come home with you tonight? I don't really...feel like going home alone."

Hodgins looked surprised, but they both knew that neither of them would be able to turn the other down. Of course, Angela wouldn't really have blamed him if he had, in fact, rejected her. "Sure, yeah." He reached and took her hand, bringing her fingertips to his lips. "Wanna go out for dinner first, or should we just order in?"

Angela smiled, and slung her purse over her shoulder. "I could go for some Chinese food, if it's okay with you."

His only answer was one of his patented Hodgins grins and a soft but meaningful kiss pressed to her lips. "It is definitely okay with me," he answered with a quick nod. He extended his hand, wiggled his fingers in invitation, and Angela slipped her hand into his with gratitude.

A little while later, after the pair had eaten their fill of General's chicken and peppersteak, they had settled against each other on Hodgins's sofa. A solitary lamp lit the darkness of the room, not because he couldn't afford more but because it was cozier this way. Angela suppressed a yawn and stretched, arching her entire body as she relished the feeling deep in her every muscle. Hodgins took advantage of the moment, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her backwards onto the cushions. She just grinned up at him until their lips touched. Then there was fire.

A fierce, intense bond of need and understanding stretched tenuously between them even as his lips crashed against hers. Her hands roamed his body, territory that was at once familiar and unexplored. This was, by far, her favorite way to leave work behind. The sounds he made and the way her body reacted to his touch—nothing could be better, and she could feel her spirits lifting even as...well, other things lifted. She smirked at him, and he met her gaze without shame.

"Should we take this somewhere a little more comfortable?" He asked as he slid gracefully off of the couch and to his feet.

"I thought you'd never ask," Angela teased, rising as well and brushing past him with just enough swing in her hips to entice. She knew her body, and therefore the effects that it had on men, well: she was fully comfortable with it now. Jack followed at a rather close distance, but still she kept herself out of his reach, and when he stretched out on the bed, she knelt at the foot. He arched an eyebrow at her suggestively, but she ignored it, picking imaginary lint off of the comforter.

"What are you planning on doing down there?" Hodgins asked, crossing his arms up behind his head and giving her still another grin. Angela felt the blood rise to her face. In the past, she'd gotten out of this sort of situation without much hassle, especially from Hodgins, but she got the feeling she wouldn't be as lucky this time.

"Nothing," Angela answered, trying to dismiss his question with a smile. She crawled towards him, trying to be as seductive as her rattled nerves would allow her. "Why, were you...hoping for something?" She bit her lip—something she didn't often do—and kissed him, softly and quickly. She felt him move beneath her in frustration, felt his hand press urgently on the back of her neck. He moaned softly, just before she pulled away.

"Come on, Ange..." he gritted out, catching her eyes. Angela lowered her eyes as she straddled him, hoping she could maybe distract him. He wouldn't be deterred, though, and raised his hips to press against her. "It's been...it's been months now." He rested her hands on her hips and squeezed lightly. It was a tender gesture, but it still somehow reminded her of something she'd rather forget. "What's the problem? I mean, we've made love. Hell, we've made love all over the place." He paused, probably trying to make sure she understood his words were true. "I love you, Angela. You love me. You can't do this one thing, just once?" His hands tightened around her hips, but still she broke free and slid off of him.

"Because I don't want to. What's so hard to understand about that?"

Hodgins sat up and reached for Angela, but she pulled away—and nearly fell off of the bed in the process. She caught herself, perhaps not as gracefully as she could have, and stood with her hands on her hips as she studied Jack's face. He looked genuinely confused, but mostly irritated. Angela took several steps backward, just as he slid off the bed and advanced toward her with arms slightly outstretched.

She was fourteen years old again, at one of her father's summer concerts. It was hot and loud and dusty, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Her hair was back in a bun, though strands had escaped and were plastered to the back of her neck. She had just finished using one of the disgusting porta-johns, but then someone grabbed her arm. She couldn't even scream—a hand was pressed against her mouth. He pulled her behind a divider, forced her onto her knees in the dirt. No one heard her scream for help—most people were too far away, and her father's band mostly drowned her out anyway. Instead, her cry got her a smack: one that left her blinded with pain for a moment as he unfastened his stupid acid-washed jeans.

She still remembered every detail of those moments—the sick smell of his body mixed with that of the porta-johns clogging her nose, the taste from his skin that turned her stomach and brought helpless tears to her eyes. She had fought him, clawed at his hands and hips, but it had all been futile. He had held her tightly, uttered oaths and groans: he had either been completely oblivious or wholly devoid of care. When he finished, she had choked, and had been truly afraid for several very long minutes that she would die right here in the dirt, and that no one would find her. But then her throat had cleared, admitting the sweet, cool air, and she spat in the dirt. By the time she had recovered—so to speak—the man had gone.

"Angela, what's wrong?" She was in Hodgins's bedroom again, cowering in a corner while he looked on in utter bewilderment. Jack took her hand, covering it with both of his and stroking gently. "Ange, talk to me." When she neither moved nor spoke, he moved closer and tried to pull her into his arms.

It was too much. Angela tore out of his arms with a wordless cry. "Don't touch me," she whispered hoarsely—it was then that she realized she was crying again. "Please just leave me alone." She pushed past him, all but running from the room. She needed to get out of this place. She would take a cab home, lock herself in the bathroom, and try to forget all of this. And so she ran, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and Hodgins, who was calling her name out the door.


End file.
